The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher

SCENE II.

THE SPANISH CURATE.

But daily did defer it, still expecting

When grief would kill Jacintha.

Assist. All's come out,

Though her intent were bloody, yet our law Calls not death; yet, that her punishment May deter others from such bad attempts,

And finds a fair success. Take her, Don Henrique, The dowry she brought with her shall be employ'd

And once again embrace your son.

Hen. Most gladly.

Assist. Your brother hath deserved well.

Hen. And shall share

The moiety of my state.

Assist. I have heard, advocate,

What an ill instrument you have been to him:

From this time strengthen him with honest counAnd you'll deserve my pardon.

Bar. I'll change my copy:

But I am punish'd, for I fear I have had
A smart blow, though unseen.

Assist. Curate, and sexton,

[sels,

I have heard of you too; let me hear no more, And what's past, is forgotten. For this woman,

To build a nunnery, where she shall spend
The remnant of her life.

Viol. Since I have miss'd my ends,

I scorn what can fall on me.

Assist. The strict discipline

O' th' church will teach you better thoughts.-And, signiors,

You that are bachelors, if you ever marry,

In Bartolus you may behold the issue

Of covetousness and jealousy; and of dotage,
And falsehood, in Don Henrique. Keep a mean

EPILOGUE.

THE play is done, yet our suit never ends,

Still when you part, you would still part our friends,
Our noblest friends! If aught have fallen amiss,
Oh, let it be sufficient that it is,

And you have pardon'd it. (In buildings great,
All the whole body cannot be so neat,
But something may be mended.) Those are fair,
And worthy love, that may destroy, but spare.

Lov. Runs lunatic, if you but talk of states: He can't be brought, now he has spent his own, To think there is inheritance or means, But all a common riches, all men bound To be his bailiffs

Mer. This is something dangerous.

Lov. No gentleman that has estate, to use it In keeping house or followers; for those ways He cries against, for eating sins, dull surfeits, Cramming of serving-men, mustering of beggars, Maintaining hospitals for kites and curs,

Grounding their fat faiths upon old country proverbs;

God bless the founders! These he would have Into more manly uses, wit, and carriage, [vented And never thinks of state, or means, the ground

works;

Holding it monstrous, men should feed their bodies, And starve their understandings.

Mer. That's most certain.

Lov. Yes, if he could stay there.

Mer. Why, let him marry,

And that way rise again.

Lov. It's most impossible;

He will not look with any handsomeness
Upon a woman.

Mer. Is he so strange to women?

Lov. I know not what it is; a foolish glory

He has got, I know not where, to balk those

benefits;

And yet he will converse and flatter 'em,
Make 'em, or fair or foul, rugged or smooth,
As his impression serves; for he affirms,
They're only lumps, and undigested pieces,
Lick'd over to a form by our affections,
And then they show.-The lovers! let 'em pass.
Enter FOUNTAIN, BELLAMORE, HAREBRAIN.
Mer. He might be one; he carries as much
They are wondrous merry.
[promise.

Lov. Oh! their hopes are high, sir.
Fount. Is Valentine come to town?

Bel. Last night, I heard.

Fount. We miss him monstrously in our direcFor this widow is as stately, and as crafty, [tions; And stands, I warrant you

Hare. Let here stand sure;

She falls before us else. Come, let's go seek
Valentine.

Mer. This widow seems a gallant.
Lov. A goodly woman;

[Exeunt.

And to her handsomeness she bears her state,
Reserved and great; Fortune has made her mistress
Of a full means, and well she knows to use it.
Mer. I would Valentine had her.

Lov. There's no hope of that, sir.

Mer. O' that condition, he had his mortgage in Lov. I would he had.

[again.

Mer. Seek means, and see what I'll do: (However, let the money be paid in ;)

I never sought a gentleman's undoing,

Nor eat the bread of other men's vexations.

The mortgage shall be render'd back; take time You told me of another brother.

[for't.

Lov. Yes, sir;

Mer. It is well prepared.

Be earnest, honest friends, and loud upon him;
He's deaf to his own good.

Lance. We mean to tell him

Part of our minds, an't please you.

Mer. Do, and do it home,

And in what my care may help, or my persuasions, When we meet next

Lov. Do but persuade him fairly;

And for your money, mine and these men's thanks And what we can be able

Mer. You're most honest;

You shall find me no less; and so I leave you.
Prosper your business, friends!

Lov. Pray Heaven it may, sir.

[too,

[Exit MER.

Lance. Nay, if he will be mad, I'll be mad with him,

And tell him that-I'll not spare him

His father kept good meat, good drink, good fellows,

Good hawks, good hounds, and bid his neighbours welcome;

Kept him too, and supplied his prodigality,
Yet kept his state still.

Must we turn tenants now (after we have lived
Under the race of gentry, and maintain'd
Good yeomanry) to some of the city,

To a great shoulder of mutton and a custard.

And have our state turned into cabbage-gardens ? Must it be so?

Lov. You must be milder to him.

Lance. That's as he makes his game.
Lov. Entreat him lovingly,

And make him feel.

Lance. I'll pinch him to the bones else.

Val. (Within.) And tell the gentleman, I'll be with him presently.

Say I want money too; I must not fail, boy.
Lance. You will want clothes, I hope.

Enter VALENTINE,

Val. [Entering.] Bid the young courtier Repair to me anon; I'll read to him.

Lov. He comes: be diligent, but not too rugged; Start him, but not affright him.

Val. Phew! are you there?

Lov. We come to see you, nephew; be not

angry.

Val. Why do you dog me thus, with these strange people?

Why, all the world shall never make me rich more,
Nor master of these troubles.

Ten. We beseech you,
For our poor children's sake.

Val. Who bid you get 'em?

Have you not threshing work enough, but children
Must be bang'd out o' th' sheaf too? Other men,
With all their delicates, and healthful diets,
Can get but wind-eggs: You, with a clove of
garlic,

A piece of cheese would break a saw, and sour milk,
Can mount like stallions; and I must maintain
These tumblers!

Lance. You ought to maintain us; we Have maintain'd you, and, when you slept, provided for you.

Keep yourself out o' th' rain, and take your cloak with you,

Which by interpretation is your state, sir,
Or I shall think your fame belied you. You have
And may have means.
[money,

Val. I pr'ythee leave prating!
Does my good lie within thy brain to further,
Or my undoing in thy pity? Go,

Go, get you home; there whistle to your horses,
And let them edify! Away, sow hemp,

And hang yourselves withal! What am I to you, Or you to me? Am I your landlord, puppies ? Lov. This is uncivil.

Val. More unmerciful you,

To vex me with these bacon-broth and puddings;
They are the walking shapes of all my sorrows.
3 Ten. Your father's worship would have used
us better.

Val. My father's worship was a fool!
Lance. Hey, hey, boys!

Old Valentine, i'faith; the old boy still!
Lov. Fie, cousin!

Val. I mean besotted to his state; he had never
Left me the misery of so much means else,
Which, till I sold, was a mere megrim to me.
If you will talk, turn out these tenements:
They are as killing to my nature, uncle,
As water to a fever.

WIT WITHOUT MONEY.

ACT I.

For being quell'd with carriers. Out upon't!
Caveat emptor! Let the fool out-sweat it,
That thinks he has got a catch on't.

Lov. This is madness,
To be a wilful beggar.

Val. I am mad then,

And so I mean to be; will that content you?
How bravely now I live, how jocund!
How near the first inheritance, without fears!
How free from title-troubles!

Lov. And from means too.

Val. Means? Why, all good men's my means,
my wit's my plough,

The town's my stock, taverns my standing house,
And all the world knows there's no want; all
gentlemen

That love society love me; all purses

That wit and pleasure opens are my tenants;
Every man's clothes fit me; the next fair lodging
Is but my next remove; and when I please
To be more eminent, and take the air,
A piece is levied, and a coach prepared,
And I go I care not whither.

here?

What need state

Lov. But, say these means were honest, will
they last, sir?

Val. Far longer than your jerkin, and wear
fairer.

Should I take aught of you? 'Tis true, I begg'd

now,

Or, which is worse than that, I stole a kindness,
And, which is worst of all, I lost my way in't.
Your mind's enclosed, nothing lies open nobly;
Your very thoughts are hinds that work on nothing
But daily sweat and trouble: Were my way
So full of dirt as this, 'tis true, I'd shift it.
Are my acquaintance graziers? But, sir, know,
No man that I'm allied to, in my living,
But makes it equal whether his own use
Or my necessity pull first: nor is this forced,
But the mere quality and poisure of goodness:
And do you think I venture nothing equal?
Lov. You pose me, cousin.

Val. What's my knowledge, uncle? Is't not
worth money?

What's my understanding, my travel, reading, wit,
All these digested; my daily making men,
Some to speak, that too much phlegm had frozen

up;

Some other that spoke too much, to hold their peace,

And put their tongues to pensions; some to wear
their clothes,

And some to keep 'em? These are nothing, uncle!
Besides these ways, to teach the way of nature,
A manly love, community to all

That are deservers-not examining

How much, or what's done for them-it is wicked, And such a one, like you, chews his thoughts double,

Making 'em only food for his repentance.

Val. Give it me. Drink that, and commend me
to thy master.—
[Exeunt Servants.

Look you, uncle, do I beg these?

Lov. No, sure; it is your worth, sir.
Val. 'Tis like enough; but, pray satisfy me,
Are not these ways as honest as persecuting
The starved inheritance, with musty corn
The very rats were fain to run away from,
Or selling rotten wood by the pound, like spices,
Which gentlemen do after burn by the ounces?
Do not I know your way of feeding beasts
With grains, and windy stuff, to blow up butchers?
Your racking pastures, that have eaten up
As many singing shepherds, and their issues,
As Andeluzia breeds? These are authentic.
I tell you, sir, I would not change ways with you,
Unless it were to sell your state that hour,
And, if 'twere possible, to spend it then too,
For all your beans in Rumnillo. Now you know

me.

Lov. I would you knew yourself; but, since
you're grown

Such a strange enemy to all that fits you,
Give me leave to make your brother's fortune.
Val. How?

Lov. From your mortgage, which yet you may
I'll find the means.
[recover;

My brother and myself will run one fortune,
Val. Pray, save your labour, sir;
And I think, what I hold a mere vexation
Cannot be safe for him; I love him better
He has wit at will, the world has means; he shall

live

Without this trick of state; we are heirs both,
And all the world before us.

Lov. My last offer,

And then I'm gone.

Val. What is't? and then I'll answer.

Lov. What think you of a wife, yet to restore And tell me seriously, without these trifles. [you? Val. An you can find one that can please my You shall not find me stubborn.

Lov. Speak your woman.

[fancy,

Val. One without eyes, that is, self-commendations

(For when they find they're handsome, they're un-
wholesome);

One without ears, not giving time to flatterers
(For she that hears herself commended, wavers,
And points men out a way to make 'em wicked);
One without substance of herself; that woman
Without the pleasure of her life, that's wanton;
Though she be young, forgetting it; though fair,
Making her glass the eyes of honest men,
Not her own admiration; all her ends
Obedience, all her hours new blessings; if
There may be such a woman.

Lov. Yes, there may be.
Val. And without state too?

Lov. You're disposed to trifle.

Well, fare you well, sir! When you want me next,
You'll seek me out a better sense.

Val. Farewell, uncle,

And as you love your state, let not me hear on't.

Lov. It shall not trouble you. I'll watch him
[Exit.
still;

And, when his friends fall off, then bend his will.
[Exit.

Know all the promises of art and manners: Yet, that I am not bold, nor cannot flatter,

SCENE II.-Another Street.

Enter ISABELLA and LUCE.

I shall not thrive; all these are but vain studies! Art thou so rich as to get me a lodging, Lance? Lance. I'll sell the tiles of my house else, my horse, my hawk;

Luce. I know the cause of all this sadness now; Your sister has engross'd all the brave lovers. Isab. She has wherewithal, much good may't do Nay, 'sdeath, I'll pawn my wife! Oh, master her!

Pr'ythee, speak softly; we are open to men's ears. Luce. Fear not, we're safe; we may see all that pass,

Hear all, and make ourselves merry with their language,

And yet stand undiscover'd. Be not melancholy; You are as fair as she.

Isab. Who, I? I thank you;

I am as haste ordain'd me, a thing slubber'd:
My sister is a goodly, portly lady,

A woman of a presence; she spreads sattin,
As the king's ships do canvas, every where.
She may spare me her mizen, and her bonnets,
Strike her main petticoat, and yet out-sail me ;
I am a carvel to her.

Luce. But a tight one.

Isab. She is excellent well built too.
Luce. And yet she's old.

Isab. She never saw above one voyage, Luce,
And, credit me, after another, her hull
Will serve again, and a right good merchant.
She plays, and sings too, dances and discourses,
Comes very near essays, a pretty poet,
Begins to piddle with philosophy,

A subtle chymic wench, and can extract
The spirit of men's estates; she has the light
Before her, and cannot miss her choice. For me,
'Tis reason I wait my mean fortune.

Luce. You are so bashful!

Isab. 'Tis not at first word "up and ride;" thou'rt cozen'd;

That would shew mad, i'faith! Besides, we lose
The main part of our politic government,
If we become provokers. Then we are fair,
And fit for men's embraces, when, like towns,
They lie before us ages, yet not carried;
Hold out their strongest batteries, then compound
Without the loss of honour, and march off
With our fair wedding-colours flying!-Who are
these?

Enter FRANCISCO and LANCE.

Luce. I know not, nor I care not. Isab. Pr'ythee peace then!

[too

A well-built gentleman.

Luce. But poorly thatch'd.

[They retire.

Lance. Has he devour'd you too?

Francis,

That I should see your father's house fall thus ! Isub. An honest fellow !

Lance. Your father's house, that fed me,
That bred up all my name!

Isab. A grateful fellow !
Lance. And fall by-

Fran. Peace; I know you're angry, Lance,
But I must not hear with whom; he is my brother,
And, though you hold him slight, my most dear
A gentleman, excepting some few rubs, [brother!
(He were too excellent to live here else)
Fraughted as deep with noble and brave parts,
The issues of a noble and manly spirit,

As
any he alive. I must not hear you:
Though I am miserable, and he made me so,
Yet still he is my brother, still I love him,
And to that tie of blood link my affections.

Isab. A noble nature! Dost thou know him,
Luce. No, mistress.
[Luce?
Isab. Thou shouldst ever know such good men.
What a fair body and a mind are married there to-
Did he not say he wanted?

Luce. What is that to you?
Isab. 'Tis true; but 'tis great pity.
Luce. How she changes!-[Aside.]

[gether!

Fran. He has gulp'd me down, Lance.
Lance. Left you no means to study?
Fran. Not a farthing:

Dispatch'd my poor annuity, I thank him.
Here's all the hope I've left, one bare ten shillings.

Lance. You're fit for great men's services.
Fran. I am fit, but who will take me thus ?
Men's miseries are now accounted
Stains in their natures. I have travelled,
And I have studied long, observed all kingdoms,

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The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, Τόμος 1